Page 42 of Wicked Prince

I have no idea how long it might be until the waiter comes back, so I take the time to collect myself as best I can. It's almost impossible not to tear up when Lorenzo looks at me again, but forcing myself to look away is another small victory.

I take another sip of water because my throat is painfully dry, wishing it was wine. If there's one perk of invisibility, I could probably get away with it, but my stomach is too unsettled to risk trying.

The conversation lingers on shallow topics, since I guess discussing business in a public venue is inappropriate in the company of women. Dad has no such qualms, but I note he's really going overboard with chivalry and acting like a halfway decent person in front of the Rossis.

If I hadn't just been gut punched by a freight train, that might register as a shock, too—that Dad is willingly sitting across the table from the man he's always despised more than any other. His greatest rival.

I guess there really is no such thing as integrity when it comes right down to it. No line that's too far to cross, no grudge too deep to settle in the interest of opportunity.

Now that I'm thinking about it—and I have little else to do but ruminate on my own thoughts, since my role here is clearly to be seen and not heard—it makes perfect sense.

The Rossis and the Carillos. New York's two most powerful crime families, each the only true threat the other has to worry about. Nothing soothes tension between families like a mutual interest. No contract could be more binding or beneficial than marriage.

My stomach churns at the thought, but I'm not sure what disgusts me more. The fact that the man I gave so much of myself to is dating another woman—my half-sister, no less—or the fact that I've inadvertently become the other woman. The thing I judged my mother for, even if it was only to myself, and only in my quietest moments. It's like the punchline to a joke I was born solely to tell.

The thought goes from sickening to hilarious in a matter of seconds, or maybe I'm just finally starting to crack.

At least it's better than the alternative. If I'm not careful, I might start to cry.

More than anything, I feel like such a fool for thinking someone like him could actually be interested in someone like me.

When the waiter comes with the food, I pick up my fork, if only so I can push around the food on my plate in a display of normalcy. My stomach is tangled into too many knots to even entertain the idea of eating.

The conversation takes a turn from the mundane to the reason we're all here, and I realize my ability to zone out is selective. No matter how hard I try, I can't will myself not to hear it now.

"So, let's get down to business," Dad says, folding his hands in front of him. He studies Lorenzo from across the table with a polite yet withering stare that would make most men quake in their boots. Lorenzo simply returns it with the same apathetic approach he takes to just about everything. Everything but the stupid girls he's not yet grown tired of playing with. "You two have been seeing each other for how long now?"

"Three months," Kayleigh answers without missing a beat, even though the question was clearly meant for Lorenzo.

Dad ignores her like she didn't say anything at all and keeps his eyes locked on the younger man across from him.

"About that," Lorenzo says calmly. He taps his finger against his wineglass.

"We're very happy for you," Dad says through a polite smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Not because he isn't pleased, of course. He is. Very much so. Now that I'm thinking a bit more clearly, the idea of his offspring becoming part of the Rossi clan is probably even sweeter to him than actual revenge would be.

This way, he gets more perks.

"Of course,” Dad continues, “I'd be lying if I said I didn't think tonight should have happened a lot sooner."

"Daddy," Kayleigh scolds, turning her pout on him.

He still doesn't look at her, his attention focused solely on Lorenzo. "The way my daughter talks, you'd think you had been seeing each other for years."

"It sometimes feels that way," Lorenzo says with a hint of dryness in his tone. He glances across the table at me and my heart stutters to a halt. It thumps back to life when he looks away just as quickly, but the damage is done.

I'm left feeling so much less than whole. So much more broken than before he even showed up here tonight.

Even if I'm pretty sure that's a dig at Kayleigh, I'm the only one who seems to notice. Normally, I'd be amused, but not now. Now, there's only one person in this room I hate even more than her, and it's him.

"Come, Miceli, you know how it is with young love," Natalie says, brushing the back of Dad's hand. She's slurring her words a little. I've lost count of whether it's her third glass or her fourth. I think she has, too. "We certainly didn't do everything the traditional way."

Dad grunts again in irritation.

"I can understand your concerns, Mr. Rossi," Lorenzo says, keeping his gaze on my father. "The truth is, given the enmity between our families in the past, I guess we just wanted to be sure this was going to work before we involved you."

That answer makes Kayleigh's lips purse into a frown, but it seems to mollify Dad, at least somewhat.

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